pretentious writer type

I love words more than anything. I frequently experience commagasms. I pen poetry, nudge novels, spring forth stories, and keep my tongue firmly in my cheek. Someday, you'll see my name on an original comedy TV show. Is it stuffy in here, or is it just me?

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

Comedy Writing 101

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

solo1y:

pretentious-writer-type:

A comedy convention I don’t find funny is when a character pretends not to like something or be a fan of something just because the other characters will judge him or her for it. It’s not that I get all judgmental about it when it’s used…it’s just not funny. I never do that. Haha.

Well, it might not be funny, but it’s something that people can identify with, and sometimes you have to throw the audience something to identify with if you’re going for a more human sort of comedy. If you look at the differences between the English and American versions of The Office, one of the main ones is the softening of the boss character, which apparently is more suitable for the American market. They did this by adding a lot more stuff that helps you identify more with Michael Scott than you ever could with David Brent.

In other news, it’s possible to make a joke out of anything. I have yet to see something that I couldn’t write a joke around. So, pretentious-writer-type, that’s your homework. Take a situation where someone pretends not to like something because the other characters will judge him for it, and make it funny.

I like the homework. always love a challenge.

I wasn't saying that it's a convention that shouldn't ever be used, just that I don't find it funny. and it seems to be used a lot, for the very reason you stated. which makes me sad. the whole concept of changing pretty core things about yourself just to impress others - while the subject of many a trite Tumblr "hipster photo" - is one that people so often say not to do but do anyway, much to their own detriment. I don't, and it's only ever lost me a few (very surface) friends, so it makes me sad when others put themselves down just to be accepted.

anyway, all that rant to say: I'll do the homework. eventually. when I'm not making a zombie webseries. >.> it's eating my life.

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

A comedy convention I don't find funny is when a character pretends not to like something or be a fan of something just because the other characters will judge him or her for it. It's not that I get all judgmental about it when it's used...it's just not funny. I never do that. Haha.

[dovves]

Fuck work, I got beer.

Charles Bukowski (via dovves)

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

"I don't want to go."

The five words ripped at her. She gathered herself, not quite seeing through the tears, and launched towards him through the smoke and sparks.

He staggered backwards at her sudden weight.  His eyes were still there, still familiar despite the golden light enveloping his skin.

"You don't have to," she whispered.

For a moment, she let him just hold her, closing her eyes, savoring his warmth. It was a desperate, adoring grip he had on her.

Then she pulled back and kissed him deeply.

The transfer was instant. Every nerve in her body felt every rad and every volt as the radiation and the regeneration energy poured into her. He was struggling against the kiss, and she could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them.

No, no, this is for me, this fate isn't for you!

So she kissed him harder, and even as her memories began to fall away from her mind, she poured all of her love for him into the pressure of her lips. And, finally sensing it, he let her take his death from him.

It all faded: the TARDIS, the bleakness of the stars, the alien races. And even as he gripped her tighter, she forgot who he was, lost the details of his face into the void.

When it was over, she lay in the comforting arms of a stranger.

He was crying as he gently lay her on the cool floor.  "Why, why -- why did you do it?  I would have come back.  Well, it would have been different, but it would have been me..."

"Who are you?" she asked, softly.

His lower lip trembled, but he forced a smile.  She felt safe in that smile.  "Someone you love," he said, just as softly.

She closed her eyes.  A weight hung in her mind, formless and undefinable.  It was pushing everything out of her; she managed a feeble grip on his arm.  A smile played at her lips.

"Good," she said.

Hot tears fell onto her face as she drifted away.

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

False Starts: Conspiracy

The bartender walked in first, still dressed in his black work slacks and ambiguous black collared shirt. He gave me the up-nod, which I did not return.

"So what's up?  This is a little conspiracy-theory, even for the muttering man in the corner."

I rubbed my stubbly chin with my thumb.  It was scratchy and raw; definitely not kissable.  "Wait until everyone gets here."

"Secrets don't make friends," he said, tapping the side of his nose.

"Neither do clichés," I said in the same sing-song way.

We lapsed into silence.  I tugged my handmade cross necklace out of my shirt and gnawed on it, watching the door.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bartender flipping and flattening his collar at regular intervals.

Finally, the mailman poked his head around the door.  "Oy, this the place?"

I waited a beat to let his eyes adjust to the gloominess of the room.  "Yup.  Grab a seat."

He was much more cheerful than the bartender, whistling softly as he slid into the chair across from me.  "I brought pretzels," he said, holding up a big Costco-sized bag.

I felt my lip curl without orders.  "Really?  Pretzels?"

The mailman's face fell.  "I just figured... I mean, everyone likes... Well, obviously not."  He slid off the chair and made for the back, muttering.

I'd successfully shattered his good mood.  I nodded to myself, ending the motion when the grocery store cashier lumbered through the doorway.

"Spit it out, Josh," he barked.

I straightened.  "I know each of you, but not by name.  You do not know each other.  We are here under orders from a boss with whom only I have contact, and only via encrypted email messages."

They exchanged incredulous looks.  The mailman's good mood returned to tug at the corner of his mouth, but they all managed to keep relatively straight faces pointed in my direction.

I narrowed my eyes.  "You know me as Josh.  That is not my real name."

I paused for effect.

"I am a government agent, and we have been assigned to stop them from getting out."

It didn't quite work.  They just blinked.

Finally, the bartender grunted, "Who?"

"Whom," I said.

Pause.

"Whom?" snarled the cashier.

I brushed my beard. It seemed softer, suddenly.  I took a deep, deep breath.

"The mutant crabs."

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

Poetry: The Crows

all day the crows have come to my window to twitch and flutter as they watch through the dirty glass and see me trapped in a house full of testosterone

[theelegantuniverse-blog]

“Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again.”

Joseph Campbell

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

Martha Jones: The thing is, it's like my friend Vicky. She lived with this bloke, student house, there were five of them all packed in and this bloke was called Sean, and she loved him. She absolutely adored him, spent all day long talking about him...

The Doctor: Is this going anywhere?

Martha Jones: Yes! ‘Cause he never looked at her twice. I mean, he liked her, but that was it, and she wasted years pining after him. Years of her life, ‘cause whilst he was round, she never looked at anyone else, and I told her, I always said to her time and time again, I said ‘get out'. So this is me... getting out.

[fornowjustcarryon]

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

everyothertruth:

GPOY.

relevant.

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

 rakuli replied to your post: I'm an actual scriptwriter.

Sounds good. I hope you can get through the edits without a breakdown and that it turns out as you hope “-)

Thanks! =) we'll see what happens. it's a little ambitious, but I'm hoping that if it turns out well I could even shop it around amongst my filmmaking friends...

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

30 Day Poetry Challenge Day 15: Someone Else's Poem

Doing Is Being by Ray Bradbury Doing is being. To have done's not enough. To stuff yourself with doing -- that's the game. To name yourself each hour by what's done, To tabulate your time at sunset's gun And find yourself in acts You could not know before the facts You wooed from secret self, which much needs wooing, So doing brings it out. Kills doubt by simply jumping, rushing, running Forth to be The new-discovered me. To not do is to die, Or lie about the things You just might do some day. Away with that! Tomorrow empty stays If no man plays it into being With his motioned way of seeing. Let your body lead your mind -- Blood the guide dog to the blind; So then practice and rehearse To find heart-soul's universe, Knowing that by moving/seeing Proves for all time: Doing's being!

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

I'm an actual scriptwriter.

Finished my first screenplay tonight - a 23-page short about a man who encounters his past self when he tries to forgive his father for a terrible, abusive childhood.

It's just a draft, but I was getting lost in it as I was writing it, despite distractions. I got so lost that I wrote one of the most emotional parts to some of the silliest Star Wars soundtrack music without even noticing.

I think it has potential.

At any rate, I'm learning the form and the nitpicky formatting conventions. Also, I have a scriptwriting accountability partner to give me feedback.

This is the first time in forever that I picked an idea off my list and actually followed it through.

Hopefully I can carry that through the editing process as well.

Signing out; I'm exhausted.

[infinitelyinfinite12]

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

30 Day Poetry Challenge Day 14: Bad Poem

haha, wonderful. my 200th post is an intentionally bad poem. ohhhh well.

the feathers from my broken wings can't stop the blood from bleeding heart thought you were serious about things when you said they'd not tear us apart

leave me here to dry and burn while the happier world turns

oh God I can't do this anymore. XD

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go.

E.L. Doctorow

[pretentious-writer-type-blog]

30 Day Poetry Challenge Day 13: Child's Poem

I had a little spider friend who sat upon my wall and wove she knew time well, both start and end but always she just sang of love:

"love is patience, love is kind, love will drive you out your mind. love don't envy, love don't boast, love will leave you but a ghost."

I asked my little spider friend what made her bitter, sad and broke she turned away her face and cried and through her tears she did choke:

"love's impatient, love's unkind, my first love, he stole my mind. love is jealous, love is pride, love's the reason I'm no bride."

and when my spider friend was done I closer moved and gave my hand. "spider, I think I'm the one - together we will make love grand."

love was beautiful again, now we saw it between friends.

[hollybop-deactivated20120414]